Sometimes it's nice to be a brat. To act like no one matters and I'm the only thing that counts. To slump down in my seat at the dining table, in the car, in class, on the principal's bench and act like I don't give fuck about anyone else and everyone should only ever care about me.

I roll my eyes when my mom speaks and sigh real loud when Dad says not to. I pretend I don't hear them when they talk to me, or just walk out of the room like they don't exist. I wear too-short skirts and too-tight tops and too much make up and refuse to tone it down. I stay out past curfew and then say 'I hate you' when they try to ground me. I stomp my feet on the stairs and pout.

I glare.

I yell.

I cuss.

I cry.

And to make up for it after, to throw them both off, I'm sugary sweet and Daddy's Little Girl. I tell Mom she looks so beautiful in her new dress and ask if I can do her makeup. I ask Dad, pretty please, if he can take me to the ice cream shop. I come down to dinner and smile and laugh and tell them about my day. I come home on time when it doesn't matter and say 'I love you' and 'Goodnight'.

Then I sneak out my window at midnight. I say I'm staying at Jenna's when I'm really out all night. I drink free beers and rum and vodka from whoever's giving it out. I party with seniors, with sex, with drugs, and loud and rude, and uncaring. I trash someone's house. I vomit on front lawns and pass out at back doors. I wake up confused but not alone. I don't know where I am. I don't know who I'm with. I laugh and find my way home and sleep all day.

I lie.
Of course I wasn't out with Tommy.

I blame.
You suffocate me!

I threaten.
I'll pack my shit and never come back! I'm almost 18!

I cry.

And you believe it.